The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1887-02-02

with these angel faces lifted to heaven,
and thank God-do you understand,
children thank God, that papa is bet
ter and will live"
The children obeyed her, and drop
ping on their knees, lifted their pretty
faces heavenward, like the cherubs we
see IN Raphaels pictures, looking
the prayers they had no language to ut
ter.
Then Myra, having subdued her great
Joy, went back to the sick-room again.
How still and deathly he lay under the
white cloud of sunshine that brooded
over the bed Myra held her breath.
and listened for some sign of improve
ment.
His eyes were closed, and his lips
shrank together and closed motionless in
their pallor. How the heart of that
fond woman cheated itself His languid
stiffness was a good sign to her.
"4es," she whispered, sitting down by
the bed, and softly clasping his feeble
hand. "There is no pain now; he rests
sweetly."
He heard her and clasped her fingers
with feeble recognition, but did not
speak or attempt to utter word. Still
and she knew he was conscious.
Thus two or three hours passed and
then the fever grew rampant again, and
fell upon that weak form like vampire,
drinking up all the life that the lancet
had left. Myra began to be frightened,
and hoped impatiently for the doctor to
come.
There was something in the case that
she could not understand; doubtless, it
was all right, but the look of that hag-
gard face sent sharp pain to her heart.
The doctor came and prepared to exam
inc the patient with the slow method
which is so irksome to an impatient
heart. He came to the bed, felt of the
patients pulse, laid his hand gently
down, and turned away muttering that
she might go on as before; there were
| no fresh directions to give.
Now the patient opened his eyes, and
fixed them with mOurnful repfoach on
the doctors face; he did not attempt to
speak, but the great tears gathered slow
ly in his eyes, and the dark lashes closed
again.
As usual Myra followed the doctor
out of the room.
'Tell me-" she said, "he is no worse
he is getting well; there is no danger
now."
The doctor drew on his glove, smooth
ing it to the hand, while she was speak
ing.
There is no hope, my dear madam
not gleam. He must die before morn
ing. Did you not observe the black on
his lips?''
"Die before merning-my husband.
Oh, mol you waut to see if | have all
the courage people talk about; but you
see, doctor, | am poor little coward.
One does not fight with death. Don't
you see how | tremble? Don't, don t
carry this any further. Pm not very
strong, and-and-oh, my God my
God why don't you speak to me?''
Indeed, my poor lady, have nothing
more to say; it would give me great
satisfaction to give you hope if | had
any myself. But the last fatal symp-
tom has come; no skill on earth can
save him; it is but question of time
now-hardly that. in fact"
The doctor was going down stairs as
he spoke, for he would gladly have
avoided the anguish that came like a
storm into that white face; but Myra
sprang after him, seizing hold of his
arm.
80 doctor! O Odoctorl" she cried, gasp
| ing for breath, sis this true?'
Indeed, l regret to say it, but moth
| ing could be more certain"
Her hand dropped from his arm, her
whole being grew cold till the icy chill
| penetrated TO her heart. She watched
him, as he glided down the stairs, with
q strained and wild look. Then she turn
ed and went into the chamber where
her husband lay dying.
| When Myra came forth again she was
a widow. In one of those cemeteries
hemmed in by moss-grown walls and
| filled with gloomy verdure, they laid
the young husband down to his long
rest.
| A pale little woman with two fair
children wondering at their black Grape
dresses, stood by silent and filled with a
dreary wonder that it took so little time
to render human life desolate.
There was no noisy grief in that sol
emn inclosure; the little children held
their breath in vague awe. The mother
looked on as if those strange men were
burying her heart, which she could
never rescue back from the grave.
| Years went by-life made its inevita.
BILE claims, and the great battle of the
law went on, which Myra fought out in
behalf of the parents who were dead
and the children of her husband.
In the course of this struggle, brave
old man, one who had served his coun
try we'll and stood at the head of its ar
mics, laid his heart and his well-earned
frame at Myra's feet, and she became
his wife.
| A few years he, in the very city which
had proved so fatal to her first love, lay
down amid his ripe honors, and died
blessing her with his last word on earth
| THE END.